Hear Our Voice

It’s the middle of Passover, and I’m deep into my ancient Atkins-like, no-chametz regimen—basically, a protein-heavy, bread-free diet that, let's be honest, I should probably be following year-round. Still, let’s not pretend matzah feels like the “Bread of Freedom” when it’s more like the “Bread of constant anticipation for the end of Passover.” (And if you want a secret laugh, remove the last 3 letters of the first italicized word and the first 5 of the second. Ha!)

But truly, there’s more to this week than culinary inconvenience. One of the deeper, often unspoken meanings behind ridding our homes and diets of chametz is the spiritual check-in it offers—a kind of sacred mid-year tune-up between last Rosh Hashanah and the next. Back in the fall, we promised to strive for lives worthy of the Book of Life. Now, Passover invites us to ask: How are we doing? Have we cleared out the chametz cluttering our hearts and minds—resentment, impatience, old grudges?

That inner chametz—mental junk food—keeps us reactive, weighs us down, and distracts us from the better parts of ourselves. It’s the spiritual equivalent of winter coats from years gone by, still hanging in the entryway closet: forgotten but taking up space.

Passover’s real lesson isn’t just about recalling our ancestors’ escape from Egypt—Mitzrayim, the narrow places. It’s about identifying and escaping our own narrow places: our tunnel vision, our knee-jerk reactions, our blind spots when we’re emotionally triggered.

So if you’re negotiating with yourself—“I’m traveling, and matzah PB&J isn’t exactly airport food,” or “Isn’t Passover really just about the Seders?”—here are a few reasons to stick with it:

1. God commanded it (Exodus 12:15). Sure, we don’t follow every commandment every day—but this is just one week.

2. It’s only 7 days (not 8, unless you're outside Israel and following older tradition). Let’s not stretch this into a carb-free eternity. Saturday night is for pizza!

3. And because Chametz חַמֵץ and Matzah מָצָה are spelled with the same letters… almost. Both have a Mem מ and a Tzadi צ, as well as a Hay/Chet ה/ח. Why do I put these third letters together like that? Because these two letters ה/ח are so similar in how you begin to pronounce them – with a widening of the mouth and expiration of breath (except for Chet, with a harder, guttural intonation and Hay with a softer, quieter one), and in how they are written (Chet with three solid lines with no way in, and Hay with two solid lines and an important entree from the side), that they are quite often confused. And thus, Passover comes with a crucial lesson for how we fill, empty, reevaluate, and refill our lives. While on Passover, we may feel overwhelmed by the Chet of chametz’ emptiness, delivered to us by the rule against consuming it, it is the opening of the Hay of Matzah that clears the way for inspiration, growth, mindfulness, and love.

As we finish out the week, consider this: What in your life feels heavy, stale, or bloated? What might be released or replaced with something lighter, more meaningful?

May we use the rest of Passover not just to resist bread, but to embrace the freedom of becoming more ourselves—less weighed down, more open, and more whole.

I wish you a Moadim l'simchah, which is the blessing for these days between the first and the last of Passover. May you have seasons of joy!